


On Your Trail

by predictaslash



Series: I like it here, can I stay. [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Kind of Crackish, M/M, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes down to it, Scott can't go through with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Your Trail

When it comes down to it, Scott can't go through with it.

They figured it out and exorcised the nogitsune and took a deep breath and looked at Stiles expectantly, but it was too late. Stiles felt like half a person and still had the symptoms even if it wasn't progressing. He still couldn't fucking read half the time. And he knows what this means. Just because Scott and Lydia and Allison will still love him and visit him and eat lunch with him and remind him of the things that are missing in his brain. Danny actually seems to like him more this way and goes out of his way to help him in classes. Well, great, but for him it means he's out of the game. The saving the world and innocent lives game. He can't do the research if he forgets what he's doing halfway through and has a panic attack or starts hallucinating. 

Hell, he's knocked out every night on meds for the insomnia. Do you know how many supernatural evil things happen at night? _All of them._

He doesn't have the superpowers the others have. Even Lydia is getting better at the whole banshee thing AND she has a brain that makes her an asset. A smart, sexy, supernatural, slightly scary asset.

So when Stiles is at his most lucid, he can't even enjoy it because he's miserable. He would have preferred the whole wheelchair thing, losing the use of his legs instead of his mind--then he'd become Oracle and somehow be even more badass than he was before.

When he sits down with their small pack--parents included--and they all unanimously agree and consent to what he thinks is the next logical step, he feels like maybe things will get better. They get Deaton in on it and put some time aside to watch over him. Mama McCall has her possibly illegal medical kit with possibly stolen drugs just in case. Peter gleefully volunteers to come watch as if it's going to be better than a movie. He even shows up with popcorn. Isaac isn't invited--nothing he says is ever helpful.

When it comes down to it, Scott just can't. He actually has the first asthma attack ever since being bitten because his brain is used to his body not breathing when it panics. So, it's really a panic attack. But he puffs away at the albuterol. Old habits and such. 

"I can't, I can't, Stiles, you could die and we just got you back. I can't hurt you, even just the bite, tearing open your skin and blood and what if I do it wrong."

Scott's leaning on him, curling into him, head against his chest as Stiles comforts him. Even with a brain like Swiss cheese, Stiles knows how to do this. His arms wrap around his brother and his shirt gets embarrassingly wet. Melissa comes up behind him and pulls him away.

Stiles shrugs as his dad looks concerned. More concerned than when he thought Stiles was on drugs that whole first year of this...craziness. "It's okay, man, there's no rush. We can work up to it."

Scott wipes away his tears and smiles his crooked Scott smile. He believes what Stiles is saying because it's Stiles and Stiles knows everything. He has no reason to think that Stiles would rather die than put Scott in this position again. That he's not even going to ask Scott to try again. 

Derek looks like he always does: stoic, bitchy, guilty. Stiles is touched about that last part. How could a guy feel guilty that he gave up his Alpha status to save his little sister? Stiles knows that if he could fix him, Derek would. But he can't and there's nothing wrong with that. Derek really needs therapy and when Stiles is finished with all of this brain repairing business, he'll check out what the Hale medical insurance covers. Like a social worker for werewolves. 

Stiles gives him a small smile, claps a hand on his shoulder, and says, "Thanks for the support, dude. I really appreciate it." He turns to the others, "I really appreciate all of you guys trying to help. Except you, Peter. But, uh, I guess that's it for the night. And it's a school night, so please leave." Everyone smiles at Stiles then, despite the general horrible tenseness in the air.

John herds everyone out of the house. Scott stays for a while so he and Stiles can lean against each other on the couch while marathoning some Parks and Rec. Stiles lets Scott scent mark him a little until the sheriff walks in with his "Scott and Stiles are being weird again" face on. Scott stops rubbing his face on Stiles's face. John sits down in the recliner and pretends to read the paper and not be disappointed. 

Eventually, Stiles sends Scott home to his mom and Isaac, claiming to be exhausted. He tosses a blanket over his dad and is reminded that he's not the only one who lost weight and sleep over the last few months. His dad looks like he did when his mom was in the final stages. Weary and skinny and worried and pale. Sometimes it feels like they're going to keep getting hit with these things until they just can't take it anymore. It feels like whatever doesn't kill them only makes them weaker.

Stiles thinks about this as he makes his way upstairs and prays that he can read, you know, letters in the right order to make words in the right order to make sensical sentences. He just wants to fuck around on tumblr and YouTube and pretend he's okay for an hour or two. He doesn't bother to turn on the light as he goes over to his desk. He loves the dark, feels better in it, can navigate it well. It might be a left over thing from the overly dramatic nogitsune. Kinda like Harry being a Parselmouth. 

He smiles at his brain simile, kinda just happy that he's still a walking, talking Harry Potter wiki, and goes to sit down only to jump three feet in the air and stumble into his desk.

"JESUS CHRIST, PETER." He doesn't know how he knows it's him, just does. More residual side effects? The smell of evil and its aftershave? The rustle of a burgundy v-neck in close proximity?

He turns on the light and when his eyes adjust, Peter is sitting there in his rolly chair with his trademark smarmy grin. "Ah, ah, don't wake your poor, exhausted father, Stiles. He's had enough excitement."

Stiles looms over the man a little, trying to look intimidating. While Peter has been on his best behavior lately, everything that comes out of his mouth still manages to sound like a threat. Or a weird bad touch double entendre. Or both. 

"Ooh, Big Bad Half-Crazy Stiles. What are you going to do--try to sit on my lap again?"

"You wish." Peter smirks and raises an eyebrow. Then he lightly pats his lap as if calling a dog.

"Oh, precious boy, that offer is always on the table, but I'm here for a different bit of business."

"Rummaging through my underwear drawer? Or I have some in my hamper if you prefer them used, so--" 

"I was thinking more along the lines of extending an offer. Or, rather, re-extending an offer." Stiles's left hand flies to rub at the wrist that Peter had grabbed so long ago.

"I can't really tell if you're being serious--maybe say it in a Don Corleone voice."

"I have more taste than that. Too obvious."

"And you're just such a subtle villain."

"A villain with something you want and that no one else seems to be able to give you." Stiles leans back and crosses his arms over his chest and tries to seem casual, chill. His heart beats at a normal, steady rate and Peter frowns. "There was a time when you were afraid of me. I miss that."

"Maybe it fried my--my." The word escapes him and Peter's frown actually seems concerned.

"Amygdala?" He offers.

"Yes, my amygdala." He kind of loses his fight after that. That little spark inside of him that keeps up with Peter snark for snark.

"Let me do this for you, Stiles." It's so soft and sounds so genuine that for a second, Stiles forgets exactly who he's talking to. Sees the Peter who might actually have feelings that aren't related to killing and revenge and power.

"Why?"

"The pack needs you whole."

"Oh, yeah, the pack? Not your pack, right? You're a lone alpha wolf, remember?"

"Oh, I remember. Didn't know if you did."

"Bits and pieces. The nogitsune had a major crush on you, you know."

"Why haven't you told the others? Derek? That I'm the alpha again?"

"Leverage."

Peter looks gleeful. "I do so love this, Stiles. Even damaged your brain is the closest thing around here to entertaining. Challenging."

"There's always Lydia if all you need is a tête à tête."

"She's not exactly all there lately either. Running around and screaming at dead bodies all the time. And her room is covered in wolfsbane and mountain ash."

"Stop, you'll give me ideas and then you'll have no one to creep on." Peter's smile goes back to its normal vacant placidity. He gives the chair a little spin that knocks his knees into Stiles's a few times.

"Back to the topic at hand."

"In a rush? Have somewhere to be? Villainy to plot, puppies to kick?"

"No, I just know how easily you can steer people off track when you don't want to have a serious discussion."

"Why are you doing this?"

"The pack--"

"Will try to fuck your shit up when they realize that you've been lying to them. _Again_." Peter gives him a nod and a smile like Stiles is close to understanding. But Stiles is a shadow of his former breadcrumb following self.

"Yes, and I can get around that by…?" Peter prompts.

"By saving me." 

"See? You're not _always_ useless these days."

"So, you want immunity?"

"Yes."

"And you'll have a link to the pack through me."

"And I'll have you."

Stiles rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Just what you always wanted."

Peter's eyes glaze over a bit and his voice is gruff as he simply replies, "Yes." Stiles blinks and shakes his head. The want is undeniably there, just for a second. While Stiles believes it was a genuine slip of the mask, you could never tell with Peter. "Slips" were usually just there to make him seem like a normal person who didn't go on murder sprees from time to time. 

"Is this real? Am I hallucinating again?"

"And how many hallucinations did you have, my dear, that involved me coming into your bedroom late at night and offering to bite you?" Welp. Walked right into that one.

"You know that if I say yes and you bite me and I die that they'll kill you, right?"

"Yes."

"And that's a risk you're willing to take?"

"There's no real risk, Stiles. You were made for this." Peter's hand reaches out to where Stiles is still holding his wrist and pulls it away. Uses his other hand to stroke the skin right at the most sensitive area of his wrist. Stiles does not shiver. No, sir. Not at that touch and not when Peter pulls him down to his lap. He's perched so that none of his weight is actually on the older man; he'd rather strain his legs or fall back and concuss himself on the desk than give him the satisfaction of giving in completely.

"And if I say no?"

"You and I both know I won't let that happen."

"Why not? I can't fight you half as well if I stay the way I am. You could take out a billboard detailing every evil plan you might ever carry out and I wouldn't even be able to read it."

"And just who is Lex Luthor without Clark Kent?"

"A bald douche with daddy issues?" Stiles shifts and it puts his torso a bit closer to Peter's. "What happens when I survive and then join Scott's pack and leave you behind? And then foil your every plot and generally mock your existence?"

"I'll woo you to the dark side of the Force."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I have such an extensive library of obscure texts. And I just got the entire Buffy series on Blu-Ray. And I have HBO."

"Yes, because the upcoming Game of Thrones season is just the right bribe. If your plan succeeds, will I have to start wearing really tight, deep vees and lurking in the shadows and ruining high schoolers' lives?"

"I don't think you have the finesse to pull it off."

Stiles is finally ready to quit stalling. He wants to be back to normal yesterday. He was always going to say yes, but it didn't mean he wasn't at least going to pretend like it caused some serious inner turmoil. And that this wasn't his backup plan all along. "Soooooo," he says, squirming in Peter's lap. "How do you wanna do this? Wrist?" 

Peter brings said wrist up to his mouth and plants a light kiss on it, makes a show of sniffing the air, flashes his fangs in a lunatic grin. "You're becoming aroused." Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I'm seventeen. I'm in a perpetual state of arousal. Don't think you're special." In a smooth motion, Peter lifts Stiles and arranges his body around him like a rag doll. Stiles ends up straddling him and trying to maintain balance while trying to put distance between their faces. 

"But your first bite should be special, Stiles. Can't just let anyone take your humanity." Peter thrusts up so that Stiles can feel his erection through two layers of denim. 

"Ugh, all right, cool it. Bite first, kink negotiation later when I actually have a decent memory and won't possibly have some sort of waking nightmare at any time." Stiles extracts himself from Peter's lap and walks over to sit on the edge of his bed. Peter follows, not even bothering to slouch or pretend he doesn't have this throbbing erection. He stands right in front of Stiles so that it's in his line of sight. "I hate you. You could at least light some candles or take me out to dinner or make me a werewolf before putting your crotch in my face."

Stiles flops down and lays back and he knows that Peter loves it. His exposed belly there to attack. So submissive. Peter is kind of easy to manipulate sometimes.

Stiles throws his head to the side to reveal a long, pale neck. Peter finally cracks and lets out a moan. "Lay it on me, big boy. Let's do this."

He's going to have to wear scarves for a while, but Isaac has plenty to spare.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Smiths--Half a Person. Only because I listened to it over and over while writing this. Crossposted to predictableslash.tumblr.com. I accidentally already started writing a sequel. And then also a third one.


End file.
